


Imagining You'd Care

by sleepinnude



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things start to fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fool For Another Day

Sam really never has any idea how they get started. Well, no idea beyond the fact that it is definitely always Puck who starts it. Because Sam can’t be the one to because he’ll do it wrong, he’ll do it different than “two dudes just helping each other out” or something and then Puck will wig out and cut the whole deal and then Sam will be out a best bro and…and whatever else he can’t admit that he’s getting out of this arrangement.

So, Puck definitely always starts things. Which also makes sense, aside from all that other business, because, like, he’s Puck. He just… Of course he would be the one to switch them from bro-mode to…whatever the fuck it is they’re doing — “helping each other out.” 

Yeah, it’s definitely always Puck who powers off the video game in the middle of the level and stretches over to kiss him, bracing a hand against Sam’s neck. It’s definitely always Puck who cuts off Sam’s laugh at some lame joke he had just made, when it’s just the two of them alone in the locker room, to press his sweat-slicked back to the tiled wall and tense their hips together. It’s definitely Puck who starts removing clothes first, usually Sam’s. It’s definitely Puck who holds on afterward and pushes fingers through Sam’s hair and calls him “Sammy” and does that soft, fond, closed-eyes laugh when they kiss quietly, lightly.

That laugh that he’s doing right now as they’re falling out of their clothes, making their way through the dim halls of Puck’s house. It’s after a party where they both drank, Puck less than he’s letting on and Sam more. They were leaving when Puck gripped his shoulder and tugged him close, a loose grin painted over his face. “Come with me,” he said, slurring. Sam nodded, smiling and they set off, walking because Puck’s house was just a few blocks down and because neither of them was really fit to drive.

And now they’re kissing sloppily, falling against walls and into each other. Puck keeps pulling on Sam’s hair, urging and angling him. Sam does what he can just to keep up, to keep focused because everything keeps blurring together into a muss of Puck’s skin and Puck’s tongue and the press of his hips and lips. Sam comes to the jarring reality that he’s pressed against the wall next to Puck’s room, writhing and no less than whimpering, bucking up into Puck’s hand pressing over the hard strain of his erection through his jeans.

He keens high and long then but the sound only hitches out for a short moment, Puck sealing his lips along Sam’s. “M’ parents,” he mumbles out, tongue sliding along Sam’s. “And Ariel,” he warns of his sister, his family all sleeping in their beds through the summer night, in rooms far too close.

“Right,” Sam says into Puck’s soft palette. With a fist in the collar of his shirt, Sam is falling forward, stumbling and trying to catch up to Puck hauling him into his room, to his bed. He bounces and his eyes go dizzy a moment so he misses the start of Puck yanking at his jeans.

They’re down and around his ankle with his boxers, his shirt hiked up his chest, in a matter of seconds and Puck’s head is dipping down, between his legs to suck bruises into his inner thighs. Sam mostly contributes with mewling and the start of Puck’s name and hands groping over his un-made sheets. He finally gets the syllables together for “Fuck!” when the wet heat of Puck’s tongue presses beneath his balls, tucking lower. Puck’s palms smooth over Sam’s legs and hips, holding him still from the way he’s sloppily thrashing.

“Hush, Sammy,” he murmurs against the sensitive skin and Sam shivers from it and the dark burn in Puck’s voice. The press of Puck’s tongue is unrelenting and Sam loses track of time completely, not sure how long he’s flopping and gasping and grabbing and wanting. Everything is drawn out and fucking torturous because Sam is too drunk for this and Puck has no problem just working him over and over, mouth happily rotating between Sam’s ass and cock.

“C’mon,” Sam finally whines, fingers clenching over the base of Puck’s neck, hips rocking up.

“C’mon what?” Puck mutters hoarsely, pulling off to lick a strong line up the underside of Sam’s cock.

Sam makes a desperate noise because Puck isn’t being fair. “C’mon and fuck me, dude,” Sam slurs out.

Puck smirks at that, at least Sam thinks he does, watching through half-lidded eyes, tipped up on his elbows. His head ducks again and Sam drops back, groaning with want. Puck flattens his tongue over Sam’s hole before coating his fingers and slipping them in, carefully but quickly working Sam open.

Sam gives a full-body jerk at the attention, moaning what he knows is too loud and arching his back. His eyes are clenched and his hands are reverting to infanthood, clutching at nothing and everything, fingers cramping. When the slide of Puck’s fingers are gone Sam doesn’t complain; he just stills, waiting.Puck chuckles fondly above him and then there’s the press of Puck’s cock at his ass and Sam loses his breath.

The next thing he’s conscious of is Puck smoothing into his first thrust. He’s taking advantage of Sam’s pliant body, pressing forward and in, Sam’s legs over his shoulders, knees practically touching his own chest. He chokes on the knowledge of how much that is going to hurt tomorrow but can’t exactly access the pain at the moment. Because Puck is murmuring all sorts of things to him, low and dirty and then sweet, soft and gentle. Some tightness starts within Sam and if it were lower it would be the start of his orgasm but this is high up, where his chest meets his throat and it’s nearly suffocating.

Everything is sort of crashing over him and he’s on fire in so many different ways in so many different place that it’s suddenly too much. Sam comes with a cry and his breath is stuttering like a kid trying not to cry. He’s still shaking a moment later when Puck finishes. Puck notices but doesn’t say anything. He just pulls out and drops Sam’s legs slowly, working himself over Sam’s body fully. He brushes their noses together and his eyes shut briefly as he drops kisses over the corner of Sam’s mouth, at his eyelids, into the soft skin before his ear.

They fall asleep like that, Sam’s come sticky over their stomachs and his thighs and Puck crushing into Sam to steady him.


	2. barely breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's broken can't be fixed.

When Sam wakes it’s with a headache and stiff, soreness all over. He breathes out a moan and turns into Puck, burying his face into the crook of his shoulder. Puck snuffles at the contact and turns into it, arms slinking closer around him, pulling him in to be flush against him. Sam doesn’t settle into the embrace, something about him urging to pull back.

Puck has a light, comfortable smile on his face and is still asleep, eyelids smooth over his eyes, face relaxed. There’s light breaking in through the window over the bed, laying patches over them and Sam would normally spend a moment watching how the shadows fell over Puck’s face and the minute movements of the muscles in his face especially around his eyes. Now all he can think about is that the sun is fucking bright and sharp and makes everything look too raw and too deep. There’s anxiety buzzing in his throat and his hands are hot.

He sidles away from Puck and watches the shift of his face, the frown, his brows screwing up, his shoulders tensing. His fingers twitch over Sam’s sides and reach to pull him back but Sam holds his ground then Puck is opening his eyes. He winces at the sun and huddles down further. “Dude?” he asks, looking to Sam.

Sam swallows and sits back, blinking a moment. He’s quiet too long for Puck apparently because the other boy sits up and looks to him expectantly. “I just…” Sam starts and then shakes his head. He looks down at his hands twisting in his lap, over the sheet that he’s naked under. “I need to know.”

Puck pulls an incredulous look and conceals a sigh. “All right. Need to know what?”

Sam swallows again, already regretting bringing this up. “Need to know…what’s going on. With us.”

Puck makes that face again and slides out of bed, tugging boxers on. “Sammy. What are you saying? Arrangement’s still the same.”

Arrangement.  
Sam nods but stops himself and glides into shaking his head. “No, it’s… It changed. Well, I mean, it’s been the same for awhile, but it’s changed since…the beginning. Since we started.”

Puck’s back is to him and Sam watches the play of muscles under warm skin, the way they bunch together and hitch and shake a little. He sees the way Puck’s fingers curl into his palm a little and tighten. “Sammy…” And then he says and his head rocks back and he’s looking at the ceiling and Sam is fixated on the curves of his ears and then the way his lower back curves into his boxers, his boxers, because Puck pulled on Sam’s pair from the floor.

“I think we should stop.” It comes out in a rush and off a bitten tongue and he’s wincing at the end but he doesn’t regret it.

Puck finally turns around and he’s smirking, which Sam didn’t expect. “You don’t want that.”

Sam thinks on that because fuck no, he doesn’t want that. But he also doesn’t want this with Puck and him not on the same page. Or them on the same page but with only Sam admitting to the title while Puck hides it between the pages of another book so no one can see what he’s really reading. “I…” His breath catches but it’s just him realizing that he has conviction on this and he’s going to damn well use it. “I think we should stop,” he repeats. “I want to stop.”

Puck stops and watches Sam a moment then, eyes going unfocused. And then he sort of laughs and shrugs and nods. “Okay, Sammy. Sure.” And then he pads out of the room to head for the bathroom, still wearing Sam’s underwear.

Sam’s gone by the time he gets back.


End file.
